


Let's Steal A Spaceship

by calculatingMinutiae



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 23:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calculatingMinutiae/pseuds/calculatingMinutiae
Summary: It's never about you, is it? Always the things you can do, the things you can offer through your expression of a self that isn't actually yours, no matter how much you'd rather do anything than admit it. You've been culled with )(er Radiance not on basis of instability, or even of psychic merit, but, you became aware early on, because you very much resemble someone else she wants to see when she looks at you. Trials are coming. It's nearly time to prove, either that you're worthy of recognition or that you really can't live up to what you should be.Your name is MITUNA CAPTOR and you need a break.





	Let's Steal A Spaceship

**Author's Note:**

> First post is first. We'll see how this goes.

> “The clinical benefits of sleep are boundless, precisely because their exact bounds are not yet known. Sleep is a time of rest, yes, and a time of tranquility. Some suspect a period of rest is conducive to a state of mental cleansing, filtering and refining memories for permanent storage in the brain. The results of a lack of sleep, however, are incredibly well documented. After a period of two weeks, one is slowly subducted into a hypermetabolic state, wearing away at their energy reserves by simply continuing to exist, a gradual decay brought on by nothing at all.
> 
> It is one thing to know, and another to live." 

     Trials aren’t for another week, and yet you still find yourself pacing instead of practicing. The thought itself is exhausting.  _Yes,_  you’ve done your scales.  _Yes,_  you know your opponents well (the ones you think will pose a challenge, at least) and you know that at this very second they’re either stretching or warming up before cooling down or taking a break like the  _well-adjusted little shits they are._  They are not, you know somewhere in the back corner of your mind you plead to please, just stop entirely,  _rocking themselves to pieces like a total wuss_  as you seem to be.

     You shouldn’t even be nervous. This is exactly what you were made for. Targets are nothing in the wake of your grip, not only blasting them to pieces but vaporizing those pieces into a fine mist that gently glides over your adversaries just for fun. You, admit it or not, happen to be a bit theatrical.

     No wonder so many of your classmates are vying for your rank this time.

     While normally a psion of your brute strength would never have to worry about competition from the less psychically gifted, today is not normal. This week hasn’t been normal. This perigee, this half of the sweep hasn’t been normal to you, and there is nothing to be done about it.

     Stop pacing. This should be wonderful. They told you it was _wonderful_. Isn’t it?

     Your first vision-- a real,  _tangible_  vision-- came to you this past summer. The second summer of _‘the most important sweep of your life’,_  the tapes proclaimed, a calloused sigh from your chronically underpaid assigned mentor as he shifted wistfully in his swivel chair, wishing rather to be anywhere else. ‘ _The sweep when you’ll start noticing perfectly natural changes in your life. In your friends, in your body--’_  you’d rolled your eyes, at that point, and stopped listening. Right.  _‘Perfectly natural’._

     You are approximately certain personally witnessing the ephemeral end of the empire as you know it is not ‘ _perfectly natural_ ’, but what do you know.

> “The physical structure of the brain of a psion is different from those of most residents of Her Radience’s domain. Some, some more than others, are susceptible to particularly strong bouts of psychic intuition. While it is common for psions to receive audio input from the pneumatic signals used in the communications of the approximately deceased, a condition known as kylomoira (Serket, p.413), other sensory input is only rarely documented among the psionic council elites, if it is even possible at all.”

     You’re about done looking to books, you think. The internet is no more helpful, filled with hoaxes and constant ridicule of teenagers purporting to be more important than they really are, quickly exposed at the first sign of investigation, and more often than not the pressure of having to actually deliver once escorted out of class. 

     You haven’t even told your guardian yet. In fact, you’ve only entrusted your not-quite-secret secret to one other soul upon this entire capital-F Fate-forsaken planet, and even then, purely because she happened to ask how you were doing. You love your co-op partner. She always understands.

> The noise outside is deafening, the cacophonous keening of the still-living dead descending around you all at once. A persistent tick-tock, tick-tock plagues the corner of your eye, blending with the deep reds of the fire engulfing the remainder of your communal dwelling. As it is, you stand in a window, the two-headed cyclops who raised you soundly out of sight, staring down at the city below. There is no traffic here for once. Then again, the chunk of meteorite capping a large portion of the street and nearly reaching up to the height of your twenty-second story window provides a significant roadblock. The air smells of blood and metal and red-red molten sky. Your vision blends into itself, melting into a perspective outside your own, disembodied, floating gently on the aether and hurtling down towards the ground. The tick-tock of seconds fleeting has no meaning to you anymore. You think you can taste ultimatum itself, and They whisper the secrets of the universe to you as the vitrified remains of your classmates, your training facility, the arcade, your  _hometown_  slip through your fingers and into the light breeze at your back, sending everything you have ever known into the tranquil night sky.
> 
> “Don’t sweat it too much. It was always meant to be this way.”

You’ve hardly slept since.

     The tournament really shouldn’t be a problem for you, but your psi has barely been strong enough to keep your heart beating and get you to class on time, let alone fly a triathlon in half the record time with only the trails of red and blue sparks to track you. Unfortunately, you’ve only been able to subsist on  _acceptable,_  not  _exceptional_. They know it, too. They see you slipping, over your shoulder; your classmates are cavernous cadaver-rippers waiting for the fresh flesh of your still-walking corpse. The council will revoke their judgment if you don’t prove everyone wrong tomorrow night. Your position will be left open to the highest bidder, you’ll be stuck in a power plant for the rest of your life, and that in and of itself would be just fine if you didn’t know you’d have to listen to  _her_  about it for the rest of your life. A substantially separate  _her_ , one who--

     Seems to be messaging you at this unholy hour of the morning. You may as well answer, lest she use her " _reedgal aushorety"_  to make you.

> **\--causticallyClamourous [CC]  began trolling twiceAurified [TA]--**
> 
> **TA: iiunno iif youve noTTiiced bu7 ii am hiighkey TTryiing TTwo pace riighTT now whaTT duo ii needTTa fiix**
> 
> ****TA:** ii need a TTwo page ab2TTracTT double-2paced on my de2k a **  **week iin advance,  laTTe work'2 only accepTTed for half crediiTT whaTT TThe** ** _fuck_  ** **ii2 your deal**
> 
> **CC: well shello to you too, carptor**
> 
> **CC: why do you alwaves think i only call you up when i need something**
> 
> **CC: although**
> 
> **CC: since youre so cordshoal about it**
> 
> **TA: called. iiTT.**
> 
> **CC: please, like youre not dyin to get out of this chump**
> 
> **CC: dump**
> 
> **CC: the one that got awave**
> 
> **TA: ‘2 a 2TTreTTch, bu7 ii goTTcha**
> 
> **TA: ouTTTTa here, you 2ay**
> 
> **CC: )(er Imperial Snorefest put me under hive arrest and i need some class-a revenge**
> 
> **henchmanning**
> 
> **TA: you mean cla22-8??**
> 
> **CC: whatever floats your boat**
> 
> **CC: my boat, actually**
> 
> **CC: technically theyre all gonna be mine in-- aaaand youre already typing**
> 
> **TA: 73LL M3 you 2cored an 15C kepler class**
> 
> **TA: or maybe an 155DCU, ii could work wiiTTh TThaTT**
> 
> **CC: you expect me to think those are words**
> 
> **TA: or HR1W8,,**
> 
> **CC: CAPTOR**
> 
> **CC: cod freaking clam you do you ever take a breath**
> 
> **CC: what is that even supposed to stand for?**
> 
> **TA: Her Radiience’2 Imperiial Whiim2ey 8uckeTT??**
> 
> **TA: 2o when are we leaviing**
> 
> **CC: i knew youd be game**
> 
> **TA: well of cour2e ii goTTTTa go, you need 50M30N3 TTwo baiil you ouTT**
> 
> **CC: so you** **_can_  ** **have fun after all 38)**
> 
> **CC: depends on when youre busy**
> 
> **TA: youre ouTT2iide arenTT you**
> 
> **TA: half a 2ec, TTiime me** **_riighTT_  ** **now**
> 
> **\--twiceAurified [TA]’s connection timed out!--**

You should absolutely be practicing your psionic scales about now. Practicing, or planning out your next move, or even finally giving in and  _just taking a breath, and your time_.

But all of that will have to wait.


End file.
